


i'll always have you

by somerdaye



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somerdaye/pseuds/somerdaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what if tattoos just randomly appeared on our skin at key points in our lives and we had to figure out what they meant for ourselves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll always have you

zayn doesn't have as many tattoos as some of his friends do. he's almost entirely certain this is because he hasn't lived, not to the extent that most people have. he’s never left england, he hasn’t won any awards or been on any teams, and he certainly hasn’t made a difference in the world. even the things he’s most proud of -- the mural he’d been asked to do on a wall of his secondary school, all the acceptance letters he’d stuffed beneath his pillow to prolong adolescence for as long as possible -- aren’t noteworthy. nothing he’ll be remembered for; not even his skin thinks so.

you'll see popstars and best-selling authors and presidents and youtube sensations with arms covered in permanent ink, like an also-heavily-tattooed artist had taken a sharpie marker to them. zayn's friends walk around with their seven or eight tattoos, happy to figure out the (red) ones that they haven't lived through yet; wearing the (faded black) ones that have passed like they're battle scars branded into their skin.

sometimes the ink gives you very clear instructions on what the next important thing in your life is going to be, but sometimes they're abstract -- for instance, zayn had gotten a yin-yang sign on his wrist when he was eight, and hadn't known what it meant until he met danny, with the same tattoo, three years later.

zayn has three tattoos in total: the connection to danny, arabic lettering on his chest that appeared before his grandfather passed away, and one that he hasn't interpreted yet. it probably won’t be difficult to understand, once he figures out what the L stands for. this L, burned into the base of his left hand’s ring finger, has been plaguing him for six months now, yet to fade to black.

\--

when you know that your life is about to be changed by the letter L, it suddenly occurs to you how very many things start with it. 

he moves to London almost as soon as it appears, taking danny with him, because he (foolishly) thinks it will be that easy. it's great living there and all, definitely a different pace than bradford, but the L blazes strong and red still.

after that, he has to work for it. he applies for jobs at establishments that start with L, has gone through the local library’s entire L section on his fifteen minute breaks, and even goes so far as to turn down any street that starts with the damned letter. so far nothing has worked, and zayn feels like a bit of a failure -- it’s only his third tattoo, and he can’t get it right?

danny thinks it’s a name, which frustrates zayn even more. how many names begin with L?

“how would i even know where to start?” he asks danny during their thursday mcdonald’s run. “even if, by some miracle, i figured out which name i’m meant to look for, how do i know what it _means_?”

“well, that’s easy,” says danny. he says it through a mouthful of chips, though, so it takes zayn a moment to work out the words.

“easy? it’s easy, now?”

“look at the position of it,” he says, and zayn doesn’t need to pull off his glove to understand. danny spells it out for him anyway, because he’s an asshole, but also because he is zayn’s best friend and it comes with the job description. “left hand? ring finger? what else could it mean?”

he’s right, probably, but zayn still tells him to fuck off and eat his burger.

\--

there's a boy who lives in zayn's building who is, quite possibly, the most attractive person zayn has ever seen. sometimes zayn watches him go for his daily run, in the safety of his own flat. they haven't spoken, because zayn doesn't speak unless he has to, but danny says the boy is nice, and funny, and a little bit geeky.

of course, that sounds perfect to zayn. he doesn't know how to strike up a conversation at the best of times, though, so he relies on small tidbits of information that danny carries with him from the mailboxes and thinks about the broad-shouldered (apparent) sweetheart, and whether or not he has ever wondered about zayn. zayn doesn't even know his name, but this is completely intentional.

what if his name starts with an L? worse; what if it doesn't? what is zayn to do, then?

he never asks danny for a name. possibly because he is the only other person aware of the letter hiding underneath zayn's endless supply of fingerless gloves, danny doesn't offer one, either.

\--

"isn't it strange," a voice says from behind zayn, "that we've lived on the same floor for months and i don't even know your name?"

zayn turns from his empty mailbox, tensed up. his luck is the worst.

"er," he says. his gorgeous neighbour continues to beam at him, which makes speech near impossible. his eyes are big and brown and _close_. "i don't... talk to people, really. danny talks to people. for me."

"oh, i like danny." he grins at zayn.

"everybody likes danny," says zayn, and it's the truth. they stand there, just looking at each other, for a few moments, and then zayn panics. he blurts, "i'm zayn, bye," and walks past the boy as quickly as he can. he thinks a name is called after him in reply, but he hums loudly to avoid hearing it.

\--

the next time zayn leaves his flat, there's a post-it note stuck to his door.

 _hola zain(?), your bad at talking but can you write things down?_ it says in cheerful, loopy writing. zayn's heart constricts painfully. _i'd like to know you better. -Liam_

\--

"his name is Liam," zayn tells danny in complete despair. he flops onto the sofa, burrowing his face into danny's thigh and hoping he suffocates.

danny hums non-committally. "yeah, it is."

after a few minutes, zayn's lack of air gets to be a serious issue, so he rolls over and frowns up at his best friend. "you probably knew that already. i wish i didn't know. what am i supposed to do, dan?"

"he might not even be the right L," danny points out. "don't get your hopes up."

\--

_it's zayn, actually, but thanks for trying. i'm much better at writing than talking. what's your favourite colour? mine's green._

\--

the notes go on for weeks, and they’re driving danny insane.

“just talk to him,” he yells, slapping the newest reply onto zayn’s forehead. “in person. with your mouth. it’s not that hard.”

“no,” zayn retorts. he unsticks the note from his face and reads it quickly, more interested in Liam’s choice of superheroes than he ought to be. he’s pleased by the response, but danny is still standing there and glaring at him, so he adds, “you’re the one who told me not to get involved with him.”

danny throws his arms up in frustration. “that isn’t what i said at all, you complete dumbass.”

“it’s _basically_ what you said,” zayn insists.

“you can’t live your life fixated on this tattoo.” suddenly danny’s voice is much softer, and kind of pitying, and zayn can’t look him in the eye. he searches his bedroom for the pad of sticky notes he’d bought after Liam’s initial contact as an excuse to avoid danny’s gaze. unfortunately, this does not drown out his words. “even if Liam isn’t the one, or whatever, he’s still a good guy who is pretty obviously interested in you. just... talk to him, zayn.”

“i don’t think i can,” zayn admits to his bedside table. the blue pad of post-its is looking back at him like an accusation of everything danny is implying.

for a long while, danny is quiet. zayn thinks that maybe he’s just trying to find the right words to say, or something, but when he turns around danny is gone.

\--

zayn is absolutely bewildered when an unfamiliar boy comes stalking into the library he works at and abruptly says, “i’m inexplicably drawn to you. does your name start with an L, by any chance?”

“er, no,” zayn says, startled, “but i’m looking for an L, too.”

“maybe we’re looking for the same L,” the boy muses. then, he shakes his curly head. “just a coincidence, i guess. good luck on your L.”

he turns around and leaves before zayn can wish him luck, too.

\--

_3 sisters? omg, i thought 2 was bad!! dyou like jay-z?_

\--

though they still don’t speak to each other, Liam has taken it upon himself to smile brilliantly at zayn every time he sees him. he’s off for his morning run when he spots zayn, watching like a creep out his window, and before zayn can so much as blush Liam is grinning and waving.

“i hate my life,” zayn says, waving back at Liam.

“i hate your life, too,” danny says from the sofa. zayn does his best to ignore him.

\--

zayn is pretty sure he’s not being followed around by cameras, but he can’t think of any other reason there might be a trail of blank sticky notes leading from his front door.

he looks down the hall curiously. they look like they’re leading to Liam’s door, which -- it makes sense, because who else would do something like this, but also it makes no sense at all, because why would Liam do something like this? they don’t _talk_ to each other.

helpless to do anything but follow the post-its, zayn picks them up as he walks. he doesn’t want to answer any questions from his neighbours or deal with danny’s reaction. the notes change colour a few steps from Liam’s flat, like he’d run out. zayn chokes back a hysterical laugh at the whole situation and knocks on the door, twitching like he’s drunk a gallon of caffeine.

when he knocks, though, the door opens by itself.

“i’ve seen a million horror films like this,” he mutters to himself, but goes inside with his stack of post-its anyway. for a moment he wonders if he’s supposed to close the door, then immediately wants to hit himself for being so stupid. of course he’s supposed to close it. who else is going to?

the notes are on the carpet here, too, leading to Liam’s kitchen.

wondering how the hell this became his life, he follows the sticky notes. oddly, he can’t see or hear Liam anywhere -- but it would be really stupid to leave his door open for a complete stranger to come in, wouldn’t it? except Liam isn’t in the kitchen either, the only thing waiting for zayn is an empty plate with a final, pink note on it.

_getting pizza. been wanting to ask you out -- stay?_

a stronger man than zayn might be able to leave, but he sits at the table before he can consider what a bad idea this is. dinner? talking? oh, boy.

\--

he will never, ever admit it to danny, but he falls asleep after fifteen minutes of waiting for Liam. he has no idea how long he’s out, but when he’s shaken awake he has a panicked moment of not being aware of his surroundings at all.

“you stayed,” Liam says, his eyes scrunched-up and so happy that it makes zayn ache.

“i, yes.” hopefully in an inconspicuous manner, zayn wipes drool from the side of his mouth. “sorry i’m napping on your table. i didn’t -- the pizza smells good, i -- i’ve got to go.”

zayn stands up, quickly, but Liam grabs his wrist and says, "don't".

it would be so easy to listen to him. everything in zayn is screaming to sit down and eat pizza and have a nice conversation about superheroes, but he rebels against his own instincts. Liam already knows a ton of things about him, more than half his friends do, so what more does he want? talking isn't something zayn is good at, he's made that pretty damned clear. if he's honest with himself, he's scared. zayn doesn't know how to connect to people, especially ones with such broad shoulders and similar music taste to his own and big brown eyes. most of all, he's terrified of finding out that Liam isn't the L he's supposed to find. he wants Liam to be. he wants it so badly.

"sorry," he says again, and walks away.

\--

"this isn't what i wanted," he tells danny as he passes through their living room, "i did not want this."

"want what?" danny calls after him.

zayn doesn't answer, he just locks himself in his room and does some deep breathing. okay, that was probably very stupid of him. what Liam had done was sweet -- bordering on romantic, really -- and zayn had freaked out like a moron and ran away. it's for the best, he reassures himself. two minutes of actual conversation and Liam would've been the one running for the hills. he repeats it like a mantra as he gets undressed for bed. it's for the best, it's for the best.

he almost doesn't want to take off his gloves and see the accusing red of his L, but he also doesn't want to be _that_ much of a coward. except --

it isn't red. it isn't quite black, either, but it's like the tattoo has started fading back into his skin to become a part of him, just like it's supposed to when he fulfills his latest destiny. he watches in horror as, the longer he stares, the more saturated it gets. it's approaching the blazing hue he's lived with for almost a year when it hits him like a mac truck.

"Liam," he says aloud, and his tattoo burns in agreement.

without giving it a second thought, he sprints from his room and through his flat. he ignores danny's baffled questions when he passes, half-dressed and with one glove on his hand like he's bloody michael jackson, and leaves his front door wide open. danny yells something like "where's the fire?", but thankfully closes the door for zayn with himself _in_ side the flat. zayn hopes he hasn't fucked things up with Liam. not allowing himself to hesitate, he knocks on Liam's door and waits, his face already burning with mortification.

when Liam opens the door, looking wary, zayn doesn't wait for him to speak. "i like you," he says in a rush. "i'm -- i didn't mean to run out on you like that, i'm sorry, i was just -- i was scared, right, because of how much i like you. i mean, i don't even know you, really, do i? i just -- d'you want to go out with me? for real? to, like, a proper restaurant and the cinema or whatever?"

he bites his lip before he can start saying things like _you don't have to_ , and _i'm a dumbass_ , and _i think you might be my soulmate_. he doesn't know what he expects, but he's still surprised when Liam throws his head back and laughs.

should he be offended? no, because there's Liam's happy eyes again, squinting like he needs a new prescription of glasses. zayn feels warm down to his littlest toe, and when Liam steps forward to press his lips against zayn's, the L feels white-hot. zayn doesn't know what to do -- he's kissed people before, obviously, but this is Liam. this is his stupidly attractive neighbour with impeccable taste in superheroes and terrible taste in haircuts. he doesn't get a chance to do much of anything, though, because Liam pulls away almost as quickly as he'd leaned in, blushing to the roots of his buzzed hair.

rubbing a hand sheepishly over his head, Liam says, "sorry."

"don't be," zayn says automatically. is he smiling? he touches his hand to his face to figure it out, and it feels like he's going seriously serial-killer. Liam covers his own smile with his hand, and something catches zayn's eye. "is... that a Z?"

"huh?" Liam looks at his left hand and goes an even deeper colour of pink. "i -- yeah, it is. when did it get so... dark?"

it's on his ring finger, exactly where zayn's L is, and it is, in fact, black. zayn checks his own hand; his tattoo has faded completely black. he finds himself laughing hysterically, and he holds his hand up properly for Liam to see.

"is that Z why you wanted to get to know me so much?" he asks, grinning from ear to ear. he doesn't mind if it is, because then it's, y'know, fate that brought them together instead of zayn's creepiness and Liam's stationery. "i can't imagine you know of too many things that start with Z."

"it helped," Liam says with a chuckle. he reaches his hand out to hold onto zayn's, tracing the L there with a kind of reverence. "but i would've known you were special without it. i just had to wait for you to catch up."

\--

**post-script:**

zayn wakes up with a start. he can feel a burning sensation in his left hand; the kind that means a tattoo is coming. he wants to complain at the universe because, really, couldn't he have a few weeks off before needing to figure another one out, but Liam sitting up suddenly with a distressed noise diverts his attention.

he's clutching his left hand, and zayn bats the other one away so he can see properly.

"it's the same," he says, holding his hand up so that Liam can see the almost neon red of the letters on the bases of his other three fingers: L, H, N.

"what do you think it means?" Liam asks. his voice is soft even though there is nobody around to wake up. zayn shrugs, fairly unconcerned by the whole thing. (a part of him, a very small part, is pleased that he and Liam have matching tattoos, though.)

"i don't know, but i'll assume we're going to find out sometime in the future. it's our _destiny_ , after all," he snorts, trying to sound sarcastic even though that's exactly what the tattoos are. he adds, "go back to sleep, babe," and kisses the Z, which stands out in stark contrast to the new letters on Liam's fingers. when Liam looks as though he wants to discuss it more, zayn sighs heavily and pulls him down into a forceful cuddle.

they can talk about it in the morning. they have plenty of time.

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to name this fic "the L word", but that ran the risk of people being disappointed upon finding out it isn't about lesbians.
> 
> HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY, HANNAH. you are seriously one of the sweetest people i know, and the least i could do was this prompt for you xoxooxoxooxo
> 
> marcel and allie are, once again, lifesavers. i owe both of them a fruitbasket and 10% of my earnings.
> 
> prompt came from this post: http://genuinelylarry.tumblr.com/post/30501793916/what-if-tattoos-just-randomly-appeared-on-our-skin


End file.
